Nothin' but a carpool
by Clola
Summary: When Santana gives the new girl Brittany a lift home from school, she never realised it would come a standing occasion. Or that she'd actually gain feelings for the beautiful dancer..
1. 1: First time ever I saw your face

You remember the first time you saw her (the second, actually, but you never let yourself remember the first time, the way your breath hitched at long legs and smooth neck and blonde hair)- sitting by the steps in front of the school, almost an hour after the day had ended. Her back is straight, almost rigidly so- she's a dancer, you remember Quinn telling you in English- but somehow, she still seems hunched over in defeat.

She hasn't seen you yet- how could she have, given that her back is to you, you think- and there's still time to turn back, wait inside until she's gone, but you're Santana Lopez, and you never fucking run, and why do you even want to run from the new girl anyway? Jesus.

Instead, you keep your head slightly tilted away from her, and walk straight past the girl and to your car.

It's not until you're at the driver's side, unlocking it, that you look up in her direction. Blue eyes meet yours and fuck. Fuck.

"Hey, you want a lift?" You hear someone asking and it's probably you, though you can't really tell because anything beyond that incredible shade of blue is lost to you.

She must have nod, or say something, because the next thing you know, she's walking towards you and your throat is dry and something is stirring in the bottom of your stomach, something painful but in a really, really good way, something that feels a bit like both winning and losing at once. You climb into the car silently, and, except from her muttering of the address, and a small thank you as she clambers out, not a word is spoken all trip.

You're not sure whether or not that's a bad thing.

Another day, another detention. Berry's most recent slusheeing was so not worth your month's detention with Puck.

This time, as you leave the building long after everyone else, your eyes drift to where the girl- Brittany, you beat out of that creeper with the Afro at lunchtime- was sitting yesterday. She's not there. You sigh, and there's an ache in your chest that you don't particularly want to think too hard about, so instead you just quicken your pace to your car.

She's leaning against it.

Leaning against the hood, all long legs and toned arms and a small smirk, leaning like she owns the damn thing. She glances idly at her watch, and picks up her bag from the ground by her slightly battered converses, eyebrow raised as if to say, "You're late." You almost consider apologizing before you realize you have nothing to apologies for.

Instead, you just brush past her (and try really hard not to think about the fact that anyone else would have gotten a smack to the face for this shit, but apparently Brittany, whoever the fuck she is, is special or some shit), and unlock the door, opening your side before leveling your gaze at her.

"Same place?" You ask, and she nods. Satisfied, you climb in, refusing to look at her legs in her peripheral.

Again, there's no talking. Instead, she just helps herself to the radio, flicking it into some fucking kid's program (and how the fuck you allow it, you'll never know), and humming quietly along to the songs like the didn't just invite herself into a lift home.

Her smile as she leaves the car, though, makes it worth it.

Two weeks later, and it's kind of a thing between you.

You don't really see each other at school- she's a Cheerio (a damn good one, according to Quinn), in none of your classes, and, rumor has it, one of those lame-ass Gleeks. You're too busy either fucking shit up with, or just plain fucking- if you're ever actually bored enough- Puck to care for extracurricular, and class, even if you were in with her, has always been optional in your eyes.

After school, there's detention- you, Puckerman, sometimes, that weird Sugar girl who stares at you both and laughs obnoxiously- and whatever the fuck it is that Brittany does after hours, and then, you're meeting at your car and taking her home.

There's no talking, bonding, sharing of days or of secrets; You just sit there, in a surprisingly comfortable silence, and pretend as much as you can not to take in that alabaster skin and how fucking /lovely/ it is.

After two weeks, it's a nice little pattern, weird though it is.

Today is different, though. Today, instead of silence, there's a quiet voice- but smooth, and warm, and oddly calming to you given that you weren't particularly uncalm beforehand- coming from her (red, and so, so soft) lips.

"Thank you, Santana."

You glance at her. You'd swapped names (officially, of course, you had no doubt she knew who you were just as well as you knew who she was), on roughly your third trip together. Beyond that, and what music you each liked in a battle for the radio, not a lot had been shared. So this? Weird.

"Um, it's fine?" You don't really mean to ask it so much as say it, but somehow her thank you felt like it was about more than this lift, and you want to be sure.

"For, like, all the lifts each day. My parents forgot to get me that first time and I can't drive s-"

"You can't drive?" You don't mean to cut in, but she's a senior, like you, and you're pretty sure there's not a single other senior in this school who couldn't drive.

Except that wheelchair kid but he kind of seemed like a tool so she didn't really care.

"No, I can't drive. I don't like the gears, plus no one ever really taught me, so I never learned."

You stay silent, for a few seconds. "It's okay. The lifts, I mean. Wouldn't give them to you if it wasn't."

That brings a smile to her face. It's a damned pretty smile, too.

"But still. Thank you."

You just grin, and laugh.

"No problem, B. No problem at all."


	2. 2: Not even a little bit

You're kind of friends, now.

Not like, walk to class arm in arm, meet up on weekends and braid each other's hair friends, no- she's still a cheerio, you're still a dropkick, after all- but you do smile at each other in the hallways, share a wave now and then. Sometimes, she stops to talk to you at your locker, even though it makes all the girls and boys in the red uniforms- except Quinn, but she's your neighbor and your bitch, so it doesn't count- frown in distaste that she'd be seen anywhere even _near_ someone like you.

You don't care, though, because her smile is nice and her eyes are blue and, well, her stopping to talk to you? Kind of makes your day.

* * *

A week later, you're sitting in the car, listening to some god awful song and laughing about something Sugar apparently said in Glee (you swear, that girl is crazy), when your phone beeps, sitting happily in the cupholder next to you. Glancing at it, you eye Brittany from the corner of your eye.

"Can you grab that? I'm waiting to hear from someone."

She nods- well, you assume she does, given that you see her pick up the phone in your peripheral- before she says, in a voice that you can't quite place,

"It was Puck.."

You glance at her. She's frowning. Weird.

"Can you read it?" You ask, wanting to ask about her pout but not really sure you want to know what caused it. She sighs, and unlocks your phone. You don't even bother asking how she knows your passcode; she'd stolen it while you were texting Quinn a few days ago, and changed it to 'Brit' before you could react. You didn't bother changing it back.

"He says 'hey babe, party at mine next Friday. Mike's homecoming. U in?'" There's a sneer in her voice. You don't like it.

"What is it?" You ask, danger lacing your voice. She sighs, and changes topics with a quiet, "Who is Mike?"

Mike Chang's one of your old friends, from middle school. He moved to Cleveland when you and Puckerman started at McKinley, and he was coming back next week; staying with Puck while his parents flew home to Shanghai to visit his Grandmother. You hadn't seen him in a good month or so, and a party, thrown by him _and _Puck? Off. The. Hook.

You explain this to Brittany, but she's only half listening. You frown again.

"Seriously, B, what the fuck's wrong?" You don't mean it to sound so aggressive, but that pout it just fucking infuriating when you don't know how to make it better. She looks out the window, instead of at you. Her voice, when she speaks, is small and quiet.

"Are you and Puck, like, dating?"

You laugh. Literally chortle, you can't help it. You and Puck had fucked once or twice, sure, but that was more a mix of teenaged horniness and boredom than anything. At the end of the day, he's kind of more your bro.

Plus- not that you really let yourself think it- if the girl next to you is any indication, dudes? Not really your thing.

You realize that you're still laiughing and haven't actually answered Brittany yet. Awkward. Clearing your throat, you smile.

"Not even a little bit, B." Suddenly, Britt's face clears and all at once, you can place her voice, her expression from earlier- it was _jealousy. _Your heart clenches. You wish it wouldn't._ "_He's a free agent. Why, you interested?"

This time, she's the one who chortles. "Not even a little bit, S."


	3. 3: Author's note

Hey guys, quick question-

I'm debating whether or not to make this just one long one-shot, or continue as a multichapter, with short chapters like we've got right now.

What do you think?

Let me know, and thanks so much for the reviews, subscriptions, and favorites! It really means a lot to me.

Cheers,

Catie


	4. 4: Do you want to go to a party?

It's the last day of your detentions. The bell rings, signaling the end of them. Puck stands with a 'whoo!' and a clap on the back, already talking loudly about his next plan to wreak havoc. Sugar's on her phone, talking incessantly to someone she calls 'Rory-bory', and it sounds disgustingly like phone sex so you tune straight out, instead giving a curt nod to Ms. Holliday, who waves cheerfully back and returns to painting her nails with polish confiscated from someone during class.

Everyone's happy to see the end of the month's punishments. Everyone but you.

For them, today means freedom. For you, it means the last day of Brittany.

* * *

She's already leaning against your car when you get there, and you give a weak smile.

You're about to say something, when your phone beeps noisily in your pocket. It's a small reprieve, but it's a reprieve none the less.

You've got a text from Mike_. "Hey Princess, party tonight! Get on it! Bring that hottie Puck's always on about ;)"_

Your skin crawls a little at the thought of it; at the thought of anyone but you finding her attractive. Still, you can't help but smile at Mike's enthusiasm, and type out a quick reply, telling him to buy you a shitload of vodka and to bring his new woman, who you've lovingly named 'Girl-Chang', much to his annoyance.

By the time you look up, she's already in the car, arms folded, humming something that sounds suspiciously like the _Sesame Street_ theme. Glancing at her, you open your mouth to say hi.

What comes out is slightly different.

"It's the last day."

She's confused, you can tell from the look in her eye. "Of?" She asks, and there's a part of you that's disappointed she doesn't know- you'd hoped that, like you, she'd thought about it.

"Of detention. The last day of me getting out late. The last day of me givin-"

"Oh!"

The realization in her voice astounds you. She doesn't even sound a little bit sad. Which, _ouch._ But then she's talking again, and the astounded look on your face just turns to one of confusion.

"That's okay. I can just start giving you a lift, instead. It's getting too cold for me to wait, anyway."

"Wait, what?" You ask, and it sounds a little bit like you're snapping at her. You're not, though. She frowns.

"Well, now I don't need to wait for you afterschool. We can just go straight away."

You frown, and suddenly it all comes together. How she'd always answer with 'just sat here' when you asked what she'd been doing before you arrived, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. How Quinn always looked confused if you mentioned afterschool training, for glee or Cheerios, where you'd always thought Brittany had been. How she always looked completely freezing whenever you met her.

Jesus, you're an idiot.

"You've been waiting for me, this entire time?"

"Um, duh." Her reply is so instantaneous, so fucking obvious, that you wonder how people think she's the dumb one, not you.

"Well, fuck. I had no idea."

She just laughs. It's warm, and you can't help but smile at it. Looking at her, you open and shut your mouth a few times, nerves building up in your stomach, butterflies feeling like they might be trying to beat their way out of you.

Finally, when you're pulling up at her house, it slides out in a rush.

"_Do y'wanna come to the party tonight?" _

She looks at you, eyebrow raised in amusement.

"I'm a cheerio, Santana. I'm already invited." Oh. Yeah. Popularity means an instant invite. Fuck, what is wrong with your brain today.

Still, she's smirking, like it's some sort of challenge. You're outside her house, but she's made no move to leave. Instead, her body is twisted to face you, her arms crossed across her chest and an amused look on her face.

Your throat goes dry.

"I meant." You pause, and swallow. "I meant- do you want to come to the party..with me?"

You look at your knees as you say it, and it's not until she doesn't reply for a few minutes that you look up at her. Her eyes, as usual, stun you. She's grinning for ear to ear.

"About time, San. I thought I'd be the one to ask _you, _for a second." She rolls her eyes, unbelts herself, and grabs her bag as she makes to leave the car. Just before she shuts the door, she leans back down, a smile that can only be described as flirty adorning her features.

"Pick me up at eight. See you tonight, Santana."


	5. 5: He's my greatest loss

It's eight.

It's eight and you're standing outside her house and _fuck. _This is a fucking date, right?

You're on a date. With a girl. And..and fuck.

You're standing outside her house, basically hyperventilating. Your hand keeps moving up to the door to knock, before faltering and falling by your side again.

Your phone beeps. Everyone you know will be at the party by now, drinking, so who the fuck would be tex-

Oh.

_Brittany: So, you gonna knock any time soon, S?_

Your eyes snap up to the window by the door. The curtain flutters slightly. Fuck. She's been watching you this entire time, seen you acting like a dick. Fuck.

You raise your hand again to knock, but this time, just as it's about to hit the wood, the door swings open and there she is, towering above you in high black wedges, a low cut, fucking _tight_ dress, and her hair out in loose waves. You swallow. Fuck.

"Uh.."

She smirks.

"Hi?" Wow, you're so smooth tonight. Really.

"Hi!" She chirps, closing the door behind her as she steps out onto the front step with you. She's standing close, closer than she needs to. Jesus.

"You look beautiful." She says, looking you up and down. There's a fucking _predatory_ look on her face, and somehow, it comforts you. Sure, this game is normally with a guy, but still, it's _your fucking game_. You smirk. You got this.

"So do you, Brittany. Really. You look," You pause, bite your lip. Yeah, it's an obvious move, but it works, judging by the darkening of her eyes. She leans in, just slightly, but you step back. "stunning." You finish, and you step down another step. You look up at her- from the same step, she's taller than you, but from one below; fuck, she's a giant- and offer her your hand. "Shall we?"

Her hand is smooth and warm in yours and you smile as you lead her to the car.

The party is in full swing by the time you get there (yeah, there's a chance you took the back way, to have more time with the blonde currently pressed into your side as you shuffle into the crowded house), and almost as soon as you enter, you're swept off your feet by a very, very drunk Mike.

"Tanaaaaaaaa! Teeenie Tana!" He slurs, and you can hear Brittany laugh behind you. Great. You laugh a little, and you struggle against him until he puts you down.

"Chang. Gotten started, then?" You ask, smirk playing on your face as you take in your old friend's features. He's grown up a bit this year- there's stubble playing on his face, and his eyes are warm with something they never used to have when he was at McKinley. Probably happiness. Apparently he didn't get slusheed nearly as much at his old school. Lucky bastard.

He nods excitedly. "Yes! And shots! Shots for you and- hello. _Hello_."

He's noticed Brittany, and somehow, you feel yourself stepping in front of her, growl purring at the back of your throat. You catch it before it breaks loose, though, and your mind spins. You're never fucking possessive; not like that, like it was your only role in life to protect the girl behind you from everything that came near. You were a possessive fuck, yeah, but not in..not in a feelings way. Not like Brittany was actually _yours. _You stop the growl, but you still glare at an oblivious Mike as he leers, and your fists can't help but clench.

Suddenly, she's pressed up behind you, reassuring, like she _knows_ what you were thinking, and you can't help but shiver at her warm breath against your neck.

"I'm Brittany. I'm Santana's.." She pauses. So does your breathing, and you can feel her chuckle against you. Fuck, how does she know to do that? "date of the evening. Y'know, because her usual fine choice, Puck, seems otherwise engaged. "

She gestures at Puckerman and some girl, practically humping on the couch. Mike chortles appreciatively. "He's all class, that boy. Nice to meet you, Brittany. I'm Mike, Santana's greatest loss." He smirks at you, and you shake your head. "May I escort you to some vodka?"

You nod, happily, and feel Brittany doing the same beside you. Mike beams, flings an arm around each of you, and leads you to the kitchen, ignoring Brittany's flash of distaste at being separated from you, and your look to match.

You catch it, though, the way her face twists in displeasure, and it makes your frown move into a smile that lasts all the way to the kitchen.

Five in five. Five shots in five minutes.

That's a lot of vodka in your system, and you're feeling it.

Mike sways lightly beside you, and mutters something you can't quite fathom as he stumbles away, after a pretty Asian girl who came to grab a beer. You turn to Brittany and beam, because she's _just. So. Pretty._

"So…your greatest loss?" She asks, and you frown, because, _what_?

"Mike." She laughs, and you recall his stupid ass introduction from earlier.

"Oh, that. He's just an ass." You giggle, and lift yourself up, onto the countertop. She watches, a smile playing on her face as you try to be smooth while drunken off your ass. She looks at you, urging you to continue, and you do so. "There was a party like, three years ago, first time I was drunk. Apparently I came onto him, or some shit, and he said no. Thus, he's my greatest loss." You're pretty sure that, in reality, he'd been the one to come on to _you_, not the other way round. You didn't really care, though, either way. And you definitely don't care now, because Britt's frowning at the floor, and you're confused because she was definitely in a good mood like, three seconds ago.

"Britt?" Her eyes snap up at you when you use the nickname, and she steps forward slightly, still frowning. You gaze at her, lost. "What's wrong?"

"You.." She pauses, considers her words. You're leaning forward so much, trying to make sure you can hear her when she starts talking again, that you're quite possibly about to fall right off it. You're not sober enough for these aerobics- Not like she is, apparently, because she steps forward into your space easily- making you lean back onto the counter, so you aren't falling anymore- ignoring her giant heels and how much they should be impeding her after her shots.

"You don't still...You don't still.."

She can't finish, but somehow, you know what she's about to say, and you can't help but laugh at it's ridiculousness. "Mike? Really? It's just a stupid story. Trust me, I _never_ wanted Mike." You're not sure why you're trying so hard to make sure she gets how completely uninterested in him you are, but for some reason, it feels necessary to do so. "I don't want him now, either. I want someone distinctly more blonde."

Her face clears at the conviction in your voice, and she smiles softly at you. You wouldn't even have noticed that she'd stepped forward again- except that suddenly, her hot breath is hitting your lips, ever so slightly.

"Good."

Is all she says, and then she's leaning in and you're leaning in and _jesus jesus jesus je-_

LOPEZ! IT'S OUR JAM, BABY!" There's a guy standing in the doorway, oblivious to what he's breaking up. "WE GOTTA DANCE, GIRL!" He's yelling, which is annoying given how close he is to you, and Brittany steps back with a rueful smile. You can't help but glare, at how far away Brittany is, how fucking loud the voice in your ear is, at the fact there aren't warm lips against your own.

Your eyes snap to the doorway.

Fucking Noah Fucking Puckerman.


End file.
